


The Greatest Gift

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Couch Cuddles, Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Feeling B era, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27588473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Flake doesn't need much to be happy on his birthday. All he needs is Paul.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz | Flake
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	The Greatest Gift

**Author's Note:**

> This is [Feeling B era](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3c8a5f955a476731a8a367d80ce29d3e/4190cef669894740-eb/s1280x1920/a92048770bd881a1ec4f03624eb37ee53d9596e4.png), when they lived together! I really enjoy writing fluff for them. Happy birthday, Flake! ♡

Contentment is easily attainable here. The many layers of blankets. The haze of warmth. A bearable late night show playing on the TV. Mugs of malt coffee and alcohol. Intertwined with his boyfriend, Flake is happy. Under the mass of blankets, Paul is laying upon him, back to his chest, their legs tangled. Paul’s head is tucked under his chin, his long, bleached hair tickling across Flake’s collarbone. It had gotten too warm; Paul is shirtless now, wearing only his gray sweatpants. Flake likes pressing his fingertips along Paul’s sides and stomach, feeling the softness give in to his touch. 

Paul is quiet. Soaking in the feeling of being together like this, absorbing the warmth, the inherit love. Cradling his mug of malt coffee in threaded fingers, occasionally raised to his mouth to take demure sips. Flake has already finished his, long ago. He’s sleepier now—induced by their comfortable arrangement, the hour of the night, and the alcohol. Somehow, the caffeine does nothing to wake him. Probably for the better. The main reason they’re even drinking it is due to limited options.

Roaming the broad width of his hand along the flat plane of Paul’s belly, Flake enjoys petting him. He alternates between a slow rake of his nails—drifting them inwards with a curl of his fingers, and then outstretching again—to simply rubbing his fingers over the warm, soft skin here. He’s practically giving Paul a belly rub, really. Paul reaches out to set his mug on the stack of books beside the couch, a pseudo surface. Then, with a sigh, he settles fully back into Flake, wiggling back against him and stretching his legs out. Flake smiles to himself when a hand, lost under the sea of blankets, strokes along his forearm and wrist, only to find _his_ hand and thread their fingers together.

“This scene would be like, ten times better if she wasn’t wearing a shirt,” Paul says wistfully, tiredly so. On the screen, some boring conversation is happening—frankly, Flake has been tuned out for the last ten minutes, far too focused on cuddling his boyfriend. He grins from behind Paul and says, “I feel like that could apply to every movie.”

“Depends on the woman,” Paul replies, “Or guy, for that matter. I guess it would be better if that guy took off his shirt, too. Although, he seems like the kind of guy who looks ripped when he has clothes on, but really has a big gut and flimsy arms underneath it all.”

“You have flimsy arms, you don’t have much room to talk,” Flake remarks, dry amusement in his voice. Paul snorts.

“I never said I was better! I’m just saying!”

“Big guts aren’t a bad thing, either, necessarily.”

Paul giggles this time. He squeezes Flake’s hand in his own, saying teasingly, “You just want to know what it’s like to have one, don’t you? Couldn’t get a big gut even if you tried.”

“That’s not the point.”

Laughing, Paul moves to flop on his back, taking up every bit of room on the couch—making sure to maintain that hold on Flake’s hand. He looks at Flake with endearing eyes and the cutest little smile on his boyish face. His hair is disastrous. Flake feels warm, soft, full-hearted, gazing down at him. Paul brings his unoccupied hand up to stroke a fingertip along the strong bridge of Flake’s nose. 

“For the record, I bet you would look cute with a little gut. When you bend over far, you do kind of have one. It’s really teeny, though.”

Blushing, Flake presses his lips together in a futile attempt to hide his pursed smile. Paul grins up at him, warmly. He arches up to plant a quick smooch to Flake’s cheek. Stomach fluttering from that gesture, Flake can’t help but let that shy smile slip through, saying, “You like my teeny gut?”

“Of course!” Paul insists, nodding seriously with a solemn expression, as if this is a dire matter of discussion, “It’s really cute. And I also like your flat stomach, too. Perfect to kiss.”

For emphasis, Paul releases Flake’s hand to slip his underneath his sweater, patting his belly. He rests his hand there, feeling him breathe, his grin expanding. Flake rolls his eyes. Paul laughs. Flake sags forward, drawing his arm around the other man, pressing his face into that messy, bleached hair. Paul hums. He strokes his hand up and down along Flake’s side, underneath his sweater. Flake clings to him, clutching him tightly to himself. Paul’s hand ventures to rest over his back, holding him in return. 

“And I like your legs,” Paul murmurs, “And you have a cute, little ass. And you have nice hands. And a beautiful smile.”

“I didn’t realize it was compliment Flake hour,” Flake mumbles, blushing pretty heavily now. Paul snickers. He begins gently circling his nails over Flake’s back. Flake shudders, arching against him. Paul laughs. 

“And—your moles are cute. I know you hate your teeth, but I think there’s charm to them, too. And I like touching your back because it’s so soft?”

He begins roaming his flat, outstretched hand along the expanse of his back, hiking up his sweater further to do so. Flake huffs into his hair. Paul chuckles. Pulling away, Flake sags back into the couch to meet Paul’s amused, cocky gaze. Flake brings his hand up to gently grab Paul by the face; his thumb against one cheek, four fingers against the other. Paul’s grin is pushing back against his fingers when Flake squeezes his cheeks together, bunching up his lips. Paul is giggling, smiling at him with his eyes. Flake leans in to kiss him on the bunched lips. Flake pecks him thrice, and pulls back. Paul forces the tip of his tongue out and wiggles it at him, eyes wide. Flake bursts out laughing, releasing his face with a grimace on his own. Snickering, Paul wipes his mouth off on his wrist. 

“Kiss me for real, come on,” he says, reaching out to grab a fistful of Flake’s sweater at the collar. Flake tries to repress a smile; the corners of his mouth turned downwards but blatant in what they hide. Propped up on an elbow now, Flake leans down over Paul, angling his head to kiss him. Paul returns it eagerly, smiling into it, hand extending to cup his face. Lips pressed firmly together, they overlap together in a dance they know well. The soft, wet sound of their physical expression of love and desire fills the living room of their small flat, shadowed by the speech of conversation coming from the TV. Paul brings his hand around from Flake’s back to grope at his flat chest, gripping at what little flesh lays there in his breast. It has a flush of arousal bursting through Flake. Paul drifts his fingers back and forth over a pebbled nipple as they kissed. Jolts of pleasure shoot through Flake’s heated skin. His dick stiffens just a bit in his pants, awakened by this brief, yet impactful, exploration of his body. 

Paul’s kissing is heated and devouring, yet in a way that is far from overwhelming. But Flake doesn’t want to disrupt this moment for the sake of sex. So he pulls away, to instead kiss a trail against Paul’s warm cheek while Paul pants against his ear and neck, a puffing that is hot and heavy. Paul roams his hand down along his side, fingers outstretched. Flake shudders. If anything, Paul has convinced him, yet again, for the hundredth time, that he does find him desirable. It’s reaffirming. Flake wraps his arm around him again, hugs him, kissing over his jaw and up to his ear. Paul giggles, hugging him back. Flake cups that hand around the small of Paul’s bare back, enjoying the touch of his skin, warm and soft.

“Mmm, you want to have sex?” Paul asks softly, a gentle question, while scratching lightly over Flake’s back again. Shuddering, Flake sags against him, evoking another laugh from Paul. Flake shakes his head.

“Tomorrow,” he mumbles. Paul hums.

“Right. Birthday sex?”

Flake pauses, contemplating what he meant, and then realizes. Exhaling deeply, he shrugs a little.

“Oh. Yeah. I guess so. It just happens to fall on that day.”

“Speaking of…” Paul begins, rising up onto an elbow to twist and look over at the clock above the TV. Flake begins petting at the tangled ponytail displayed before him, resting upon Paul’s freckled shoulder blade. Paul whips around to look back at him with a broad grin.

“Happy birthday! It’s one in the morning!”

Paul leans in to nuzzle into Flake’s hair, while Flake grunts and says, “Oh, explains why I’m so sleepy.”

A slim hand cupping under his cheek and gently forcing his head up has him looking up into Paul’s sparkling eyes. Paul leans in, angling himself to kiss him on the mouth, firm in its expression of love. Flake lets his heavy eyes close. Paul kisses him _so_ gently, it feels more like a full-body embrace in how it completely warms him up, and makes him feel whole inside. Flake rests one hand on Paul’s side, fingers exploring along skin, basking in it. His naked skin, soft and warm and delicate. It’s not only this touch that invigorates him, but the ability to indulge in it. To be _allowed_ to touch him here whenever he wants, however he wants. Paul will always want him. It’s a feeling Flake has never known before. The freedom to love with an absence of fear.

Their mouths slowly purse together, kindly, fondly. Paul pecks him a few more times in finality, and pulls away. Flake gazes up at him sleepily, eyes hooded. His heart is made heavy by his sick adoration for the other man. Paul is smiling down at him, a sweet tenderness in his gaze. He continues cupping Flake’s cheek. Leaning in again, Paul lays his lips against his forehead. Flake closes his eyes, soothed. 

“I love you,” Paul whispers. Flake’s heart lurches, his insides bursting, sparking, fluttering. Paul cradles his face delicately, kissing along his brow, down his nose. He finishes by pressing his lips firmly to Flake’s—Flake returns it, wholeheartedly. They separate with a wet smack of lips and a sated exhale from Paul. Affection intensifying, bubbling, Flake holds him tighter and pulls him in. Paul has no choice but to collapse into him with a laugh. Flake clutches his smaller boyfriend to himself, among the tangled mess of blankets. His face tucks into Paul’s neck. Paul cups the back of his head with a tender hand, fingers lost in his messy hair. Flake has to swallow down his nerves, heart racing as it always did when this part came. Letting himself melt into Paul’s embrace, he speaks in a timid murmur.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
